


Tell Me You Care

by Tesmarin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Cole Bestie, Damaged, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friendship / Flirting / Thinking of You Fest, Love, Male-Female Friendship, Oblivious, Other, Pain, Puppy Love, Spoilers through the game, attitude, lusting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2908067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tesmarin/pseuds/Tesmarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The growing bond between Solas and female Lavellan. A look into the Inquisitor's feelings towards Solas and other companions. The friendship with Cole I always wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Born of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Do forgive me if some of the sentences or concepts seem a little long winded. After the first chapter or two I will use time skips here and there, so that way I won't be dragging you through the whole story. Hope you enjoy. Wish me luck!

The air smelled thick with fire and ashes, the sky was sorrowfully blackened and tinted gray. It would seem as though all that made this world happy and joyful had suddenly died or gone into hiding. For the moment, the world was bleak.

At the base of a small, rocky hill lay the form of a Dalish elf. Her diminutive body was crumpled and covered in soot, her strawberry blonde hair in disarray atop her head. She pinched the bridge of her nose as she woke, feeling tired and achy. The elf looked around slowly, unaware of where she was. If someone had told her the truth, she would scarcely believe them anyway.  
She pushed herself up from the ground, groaning as her body protested the action. Her arms felt weak and lifeless, as though she had not used them in countless years. How long had she been asleep?

The young elf fruitlessly attempted to rub the soot from her face, only succeeding in smearing it across her features. She looked blandly at her dirtied hands and began to wander aimlessly up the rocky hillside. What was the harm in becoming more lost? She needed to explore her current position, try and gain footing now that she had woken.  
Something about the...everything here felt a bit...off? The landscape was too random and unfamiliar, but somehow simultaneously familiar. She recognized it, but there was something different. Her head began to ache as she looked around a bit more.  
At the top of the hill stood a single, glowing figure bathed in white so brilliantly that the elf could not help but wonder how she missed it. Had it been there a moment ago? Alas, she could not rattle her tired brain into remembering. What she did know, however, is the strange urge she suddenly felt.

She felt as if she was in terrible danger, as if that figure was the only thing standing between her and utter destruction. The elf picked up her pace, beginning to climb toward the heavenly figure who beckoned her closer.  
She knew not why she needed to reach the woman in white, but she knew simply that she needed to. Her delicate hands now grasped the rocks to help propel her body forward to her goal, the pace broaching desperately. She could feel the danger tingling against her skin; it made her teeth hurt.  
Her pointed ears perked at the sound of pursuit behind her, and the hair on her neck stood on end. A quick, yet hesitant glance over her shoulder revealed hideous creatures scurrying after her with ferocious determination. The elf truly was climbing for her life now.  
She kept her eyes, now forced open wide with fear, trained on the woman in white. It was the only beacon of hope she had in this twisted place and her heart beat madly with the desire to reach it.  
She climbed and ran until she fell to her knees, after which she crawled. Her arm outstretched to the figure, begging assistance, and the figure reached back. The elf felt a searing pain so fantastically terrible that she had not the breath to scream. Her hand was engulfed in brilliant green flame as her fingers and the fingers of the woman touched. The elf's eyes rolled into the back of her head as the world faded once again to black.

* * *

 

Pain. All she could think of was pain. Her hand throbbed with the intensity of stings beyond counting, and her body felt as though she had rolled herself down a mountain. Dear Maker, what had she done to create such enduring pain?  
The elf was snapped from her mind as a door was all but kicked open from the outside, flooding the room with cold air and light. She attempted to shield her eyes, but quickly deduced that her hands were shackled.  
She squinted through the light to gaze at two imposing figures, who, in turn, glared back at her. The elf's expression portrayed her confusion across her slim, elven features. Before she could wrap her head around her situation, one of the women had grabbed her by the collar.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now?" Questioned the more imposing of the two. She explained in aggresive detail the fate of the Conclave and the deaths of every attendant. Except the elf.

She looked up, helplessly lost at the woman before her and her jaw trembling with the realization. Even so, she almost couldn't bring herself to believe it.

"What...? What do you mean everyone is dead?" She asked, hesitantly. It seemed a foolish question in hindsight. The woman meant exactly that. They were all dead.

The Dalish never had close ties to the humans, only curiousity at some points, but her encounter with the Divine and her followers had been different. She had seen their devotion, felt the way they believed in the Maker, could hear the ernesty with which they sang the Chant...but now they were ashes on the hillside, and the blame fell to her.

"I..." The elf swallowed thickly, then set her jaw and raised her head to the darker-haired woman. "I am innocent."

The woman caught her left wrist and raised both hands into the air, her knuckles white from her grip. The elf's hand glowed with furious green light and burned with the same fantastic pain as before.

"Explain this." The woman demanded, throwing the shackled hands to the ground with surprising force.

"I can't." The elf responded through her agony, eyes blurry with tears as the pain flowed through her body. She could not handle much more abuse, but the woman persisted still.

She was brought back to her knees by her hair and stared down with such a fiery glare that her heart skipped a beat. The elf coughed on a shriek as her magic began to gather in her hands. She erected a barrier around herself, forcing the woman to drop her back to the floor.

"Cassandra!" Sighed the other woman, seemingly unamused by the display. "Do not forget, we need her."

The elf managed to block out the rest of the conversation, cradling her left hand as best she could while rocking back and forth. She prayed to the Creators to aid her and keep her safe from this madness, if only as a comfort to herself. And secretly, she even whispered to the Maker to lend her his ear.  
The Dalish poured everything she could possibly remember into the silence of room. She told them of waking in the darkness, of seeing the woman in white reaching out to her, of the hideous creatures chasing her relentlessly up the mountainside. The thoughts of the experience drew her into a dream-like trance as she struggled to recall more. Alas, it was all she could offer them.

"Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the Rift."

When she bled back into the world outside her mind, Cassandra was unlocking her restraints and saying that she needed to be shown something. The elf did not argue with her captor on this. Perhaps it was because she was grateful for the opportunity to move. Or perhaps she was sure it would bring more abuse by her hands.

The winter air was cold and harsh and dry against her face. She was forced to squint and turn her head for a moment against the wind, and again she was met with the smell of ashes and fire like before. She knew then that what Cassandra had said about the explosion at the Conclave was true. Everything was gone. Everyone was dead.

When her eyes were strong enough to look into the sky, the sight that awaited her there was enough to cause her to take a few steps back.  
A hole. A brilliant green, swirling, malefic hole taking over the sky as though it now was the sky. She continued to stare, completely taken aback by what should not exist. Even from here, so far away from the massive hole, she could feel the magically imbued energy tingling like mad in the air.  
The energy felt wrong, as though it was damaged and hurting or touched by evil. The mage in her was both fascinated and horrified by the concept.

"We call it 'The Breach'." Cassanadra explained, sounding exhausted and mystified. "It is a massive Rift into the realm of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It's not the only such Rift, but it is the largest."

She glanced back at the Dalish elf, drawing her eyes from the Breach to get across the seriousness of the situation. As if she needed to.

"All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave." Her voice made it seem as though she was trying to guilt a confession from the elf, but she would not confess to what she was not guilty of. "Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world."

The elf met her with a long stretch of defiant silence, staring into the Breach once more. It flared suddenly, as did the mark on her hand. Along with it came the familiar pain. The elf screamed and collasped to her knees, the rope bindings causing her to fall on her side in the movement. This was becoming too much to bare.  
Cassandra then took the time to explain that the pain she was feeling was caused by the expansion of the sky rift, and that she was dying with each passing moment. There was distress in her voice when she mentioned their lack of time. Though she did not directly say it, she implied her hopelessness in relying on an elf, of all things.  
It was enough. She had heard enough.

"I will do what I can." She replied, pushing herself back to a standing position and allowing Cassandra to lead her through the town of Haven. Maybe the elf did it just to spite the woman's expectation of refusal, but the answer was not clear.

The woman explained why the people stared at her with such disapproving expressions, as if it mattered. What did mages and templars mean to a Dalish? The only thing that caught her attention was the death of the Divine Justinia. She had been a repectable human, rigid in her beliefs and true to her faith. The world had truly lost a good soul with her death.  
They continued to walk, crossing a stone bridge when Cassandra stopped to cut her bindings. She promised a trial, which caused the Dalish to shake her head at the absurdity of it all. They said no more words to each other, only walked toward the gate in their mutual silence. She walked ahead on her own with Cassandra close behind, no doubt watching her every move.

* * *

  
The elf was now able to breathe for the first time since waking, but there was no enjoyment in the realization. Too much had transpired to be anywhere near positive just yet. There had been so much death and destruction...and the humans were laying it all before her.  
As they walked, she noticed now that she was wearing ill fitting boots and that her foot wraps were gone. She scoffed at the simple disrespect and continued to trudge past the spiky barriers and terrified soliders. They seemed to cower into their armor at every sound. She could imagine their morale was not very high after the things they had witnessed.  
Another tremor in the Breach and another wave of the soul-searing pain had her face deep in the snow and screaming once again. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she writhed, lost in the agony until Cassandra pulled her to her feet. The woman kept a hand on her elbow to guide her, as she was still whimpering and clutching her left hand. The pain was now eating its way up her arm.

They began to slowly cross another bridge, but it crumbled with the force of green fire smashing through the middle. The pair tumbled to the hard ground beneath in a heap of tangled limbs and rubble.  
The elf groaned as the snow soaked into her robes and chilled her body to the bones. She offered Cassandra no assistance when getting to her feet, finding she felt no guilt over it. She could barely manage to get herself off the ground, let alone someone in full metal armor. From her glare, Cassandra obviously did not see it this way. Theirs was not a relationship that seemed to be going anywhere fast.

They walked onto a lake that was frozen quite solid and covered in the foreboding forms of shades and wraiths. The elf watched as Cassandra drew her sword and shield, leaving her with nothing save her magic to aid herself. The demons were on the pair in seconds, lashing out with power fueled by the Breach. Needless to say, they were too powerful for Cassandra to handle alone while protecting her charge.

The elf scanned the field until her eyes landed on a broken box and a gift from the Creators leaned against it. The staff was little more than a glorified walking stick, but it would certainly suffice given the circumstances. She breathed a sigh of thanks that came from deep in her lungs, then quickly got to work.  
Her magic coarsed happily through the medium of the staff, bringing color back to her pale skin and life to her eyes again. The power of the mark tingled and sang with each bolt sent flying through her weapon, and it empowered her. Her attacks and every fire bolt became a dance of elation until each foe lay slain on the cold lake surface.  
Her chest heaved with excitement, and she clutched the staff tightly as she leaned against it, smiling drunkenly at the ground. The battle had left her blood pumping in her ears and her skin tingling for more. She turned to check on Cassandra, but was met only with the gleaming tip of a sword in her face.

"Drop your weapon!" She demanded, seeming terrified of the diminutive elf. Her voice held authority and command, but the sword was the straw that broke the camel's back...and the elf's patience.

"Do you really believe I need a staff to be dangerous to you?" She whispered, blue eyes glowing with the energy floating on the wind. She blinked slowly, and it was gone, but she knew Cassandra had seen the demonstration. The elf pushed past her and continued onwards, staff perched snugly on her back.

They avoided as much of the conflict as possible by trekking through the thin woodlands around the lake, swiftly climbing the mountain and getting a full view of the chaos surrounding them. Demons fell from the Breach like the snow from the sky, threatening to overwhelm the already weakened forces stationed here. The elf knew they must hurry, before it was too late to save them.

The sounds of battle grew closer, and the noise of what must have been jolly laughter prickled her ears. Who could be making light of anything in a situation like this? She and Cassandra climbed the rugged stairs with greater speed toward the noise, then dropped into a clearing filled with battle and people in need of assistance.  
She drew her power into her hands and cast a flash of fire to engulf a wraith attacking a tall, slender figure with a crude staff much like her own. Seeing another mage filled her stomach with elation, but she could not afford to let her viligance slip just yet. A rift, one that was many times smaller than the one in the sky, spewed ever more demons onto the field. It was a wonder those in this pit had not perished before she and Cassandra had arrived.

A hairy chested dwarf fired steel-tipped bolts from the most exquisite crossbow the elf had ever seen, and it seemed the laughter had been coming from him. He managed to crack the most amusing jokes, even when nearly overwhelmed by demons. She would be lying if she said she hadn't smiled at least once during the battle, even as some of the soliders fell around her.

She fought with everything she had, firing every spell she could muster until the demons lay dead once again, but it was not over yet. She felt warm, thin fingers close urgently around her wrist and wrench it towards the ominous, glowing rift. Her shoulder felt as though it had been dislocated, but the power emanating from her mark was enough to distract her from the feeling.

"Quickly! Before more come through!"

A voice deeper than what she had expected came from the slender figure as his aura touched hers and drew the power of the mark to the rift. He used her as a medium as he coaxed her energy out and into the air. His control left her looking desperately for any way to aid him, but she came up with nothing other than letting him guide her. With an echo from the hole in the air, it turned in on itself in a blast that sent them both flying.  
She scrambled to her feet, clutching her staff and searching for more demons, but there was no where for them to come through anymore. Her mark had sealed the rift, albeit with help from the man. Oh!

She searched and found him brushing his tattered and exotic robes free of ash and snow with a large, pale hand. His brow was gleaming with sweat, and with no hair to soak it up, a bead of it ran down his face and neck to disappear into his robes. She was about to ask after his well-being when she finally noticed his ears.

He was elvhen. But he was much taller and with wider shoulders than the elves she had seen. His hips and legs seemed delicate, but he moved with undeniable strength and grace, as she had witnessed on the battlefield. She was fascinated almost instantly, drawn by a longing for kinship and safety that the people here had denied her thus far.

"What did you do?" She asked, running her thumb over the mark on her hand.

The man smiled and shook his head, his piercing blue eyes shone with a glimmer of amusement.

"I did nothing. The credit is yours."

She continued to observe the mark, now glowing green in her palm, turning it over again and again.

"I closed it." She murmured quietly, mystified once more. "How?"

She did not expect an answer, but the mage seemed eager to discuss the mark. It unnerved her slightly to hear him speak so surely of something she did not understand, even though it was on her body.

"Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand." His lips tugged into a half smile, but his voice stayed serious as he explained. It was good to finally get a reasonable explanation, even if Cassandra seemed to glower in the background. He continued.

"I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake...and it seems I was correct." The mildly smug, sing-song quality of his voice as he said so was enough to make her smile.


	2. Snowy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today we learn the Inquisitor's name and an unexpected change that befalls her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be demonstrating a little bit of a cannon I have for the Inquisitor, but stay with me! Also, I've also always viewed Solas as a little bit sassy, and sometimes unintentionally creepy. Hope I'm not the only one...

Cassandra stepped forward, her voice now holding a semblance of hope.

"Then the mark might also be able to close the Breach itself?" She asked, looking the man in the eyes.

It was now that one could see the stress written across her features. Though it was near freezing and breath came in cloudy wisps, her hair was matted down to her brow with sweat. Her stride seemed exhausted and her face strained with worry. The Dalish was unsure if this meant she was more pleasant in other situations, as so far she and Cassandra were off to a rough start.

The man barely raised his chin to face her, and if she was not mistaken, the slightest hint of disdain coated his word.

"Possibly." Was all he responded with to her question. He was noticeably softer toned when he spoke to the mage, which brought her no small amount of comfort. "T'would seem you hold the key to our salvation."

The thought of such responsibility made the girl shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, but no one openly acknowledged the motion.

The dwarf, seeming quite done with the doom and gloom, stood in the background while idly fixing his gloves. He even took the time to crack another joke, much to the disdain of the foreboding aura in the air, but to the delight of the near panic-stricken elf. He turned and took a few swaggering steps towards the rest of the group, effectively swiping all the attention for himself. He seemed to like it that way.

"Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally an unwelcome tagalong. At your service" He winked slyly at Cassandra, who responded with a roll of her eyes and narrowing of her gaze.

 _Honestly_ , thought the elf, was there no one Cassandra was fond of? Or was at least mildly pleasant towards? She thought quickly, trying to bring back the short reprieve in the dismal attitude surrounding this endeavor. Though she herself was normally a very serious and task-oriented person, this was all just a bit too much to handle as of now. The solution that fell from her lips was most likely to most pathetic thing she could have said.

"That's a....nice crossbow you have there."

Oh, how instantly she regret it! Though, if the rogue found it funny, he did not seem to show it. In fact, the elf was sure Varric had taken it as a compliment.

The pair made idle chitchat over the weapon for a moment or two, finding that the crossbow had a name. Bianca was interesting for a piece of weaponry, but she assumed there had to be some sort of story behind it. If the description he gave about himself had been true, perhaps she could coax the tale out of Varric once the situation had calmed. More friendly conversation would certainly be welcomed after the encounter she had had with a certain unnamed member of the quartet.

Cassandra stepped forward and expressed, rather rudely as it was, her dislike of Varric's implied wish to aid them. As if a single marked elf and a seeker could fight off whatever magic this Breach was. Honestly? She scoffed under her breath and hoped Varric would respond with something equally rude, if witty. She was not disappointed by the tension the dwarf's next statement caused. And, if she could go so far, three of the four participants of the conversation were at least slightly amused by the exchange. However, the male mage, looking to disfuse said tension, took a step forward to change the subject for the time being.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions." A slight smile tugged at his lips and his eyes sparkled with bemusement. "I am pleased to see you yet live."

She looked at him oddly for a moment, but his expression gave away nothing. Had he met her before just now? Her confusion must have been rather evident, because Varric cleared his throat and offered further explanation.

"What he means is: 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.'." He rubbed at his nose and sent an amused grin in Solas' direction. "Might want to be more clear next time, Chuckles."

She glanced fleetingly at the mark once more, noticing it was glowly furiously again. Her heart beat madly in anticipation of another wave of pain, waiting for it to bring her to her knees, but it never came. Even so, her voice shook heavily when she next spoke. The sound of her voice really did show what she was: a young, terrified mage thrust suddenly into a whirlwind of confusion.

"I am Miathos Lavellan." She exhaled a hesistant breath and turned to Solas, whose gaze was still focused on the mark. "I owe you many thanks, _hahren_."

His lips twitched ever so slightly at her words, but then the expression turned to somber once again, signaling that the time for merry exchanges was over.

"Thank me if we manage to close the Breach without killing you in the process."

Miathos shivered against the coldness and finality of his tone. She nodded, more to herself than to him, and gripped her staff tightly. She all but blocked out a brief conversation between he and Cassandra, as her goal was now set.

She was determined to live.

* * *

 

 

Miathos woke with a start, throwing a woolen blanket nearly across the room in the process. She gasped from a brief sting of pain emanating from her ribs. When she looked for the source, she found she was wearing little more than breast bindings and her smalls, but that was not what caught her attention.

There was the ghost of a purple bruise beginning just below her collar and travelling down below her breasts. The lines of the vallaslin she had decorating her chest, signaling her heritage as a Dalish, snaked below the bruise and matched the markings on her face. They almost blended in with the injury, but they were just a bit darker in color. When Miathos pressed with her fingers on the injury, it brought forth a dull ache.

She recognized the signs of healing magic, feeling its remnants tingling on her skin. The last session could not have been more than an hour or two ago.

What had happened?

She tried to remember and was met with visions of the Breach swirling above her. She recalled a battle with a demon of pride and their triumph against it, so then what had left her with this injury? She tried harder to recall and her mark throbbed in her hand, but not painfully. It felt as though it was trying to remind her, and it certainly did.

The way her hair (had it always been so lightly colored?) stood on end on her hands spoke volumes of immense power. She could remember closing the Breach, and the force of it sending her flying like a ball through the air into a stone wall, then to the ground. She was certain she had bounced when she had hit based on the size of the bruise. Even so, it was nearly healed. For how long had she been recovering?

Miathos' gaze snapped upwards when she heard a door opening near her bed. She quickly called the power of ice to her hands and was about to send it flying when an elven servant stepped into the room. Quickly, the mage tried to explain herself, but it didn't turn out quite the way she was hoping.

The poor thing fainted. Just up and hit the ground head first.

"Oh, _dalen_..." Miathos sighed, disappointed. She rose from the bed and managed to manuever the young woman into it, despite her body's lack of strength. It helped that the servant was so small and thin. She could not help but be reminded of a mouse when looking upon her.

Miathos found her robes, badly singed but clean, in a basket the servant had dropped on her way in. She picked them up and walked, though it was admittedly more like a hobble, towards a humble wash basin in the corner. She grabbed a small cloth from the windowsill and dipped it inside the icy cold water. Miathos hissed as she quickly washed her face.

As she started to wash her arms, she became certain that something was wrong with the hair there. She had strawberry blonde, nearly red hair. Why was it so light?

Upon closer inspection, she found that she was not imagining it. It wasn't just lightly colored: it was white! The downy hairs on her arms and legs were whiter than the first snowfall of winter.

With growing dread, Miathos gathered her courage and peered into the wash basin. All of it. Her long locks were completely stark white. Her eyelashes and brows were also the same color. Even her skin was tinted so ghostly pale that she seemed to glow. She touched her face, almost unable to believe that it was hers.

She blinked, once, twice...then she splashed the reflection, but the ripples showed her the same image. Even her eyes had changed color: where they had once been a charmingly pale blue, they were now the same violet as her vallaslin. She was reminded of an old Dalish tale of a woman with white hair, but the name of the woman eluded her. Miathos leaned against the wall for a moment, rubbing her temples against the intial shock of seeing herself so changed.

Creators...what had _happened_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a person should definitely not be able to traverse the Fade in the FLESH unscathed.  
> Really, what?  
> My cannon is that the shock of traversing the Fade and closing the rifts causes Miathos' hair to turn completely white. Technically she should be dead, so, hey! Good enough trade.


	3. Solace in Solas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a made up conversation between Solas and Miathos (Lavellan). The first look we get at her puppying after him, like I did when romancing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will most likely be releasing an alternate version of this chapter from Solas' point of view. I won't lie, my sassy Solas also has a bit of a broken and screwed up side, that's most likely where the mature stuff is wiggling on in.

Miathos donned her robes and left the cabin, still quite in shock.

Her mind was reeling from what she had seen. Not only was she apparently gifted with the ability to close holes leading into the Fade, there were actually holes that _led into the Fade in the first place!_ Her hair, skin, and eyes had all spontaneously changed their color. Servant girls fainted upon seeing her. What kind of cruel joke was this?

As the elf closed the door, the sight that awaited her almost knocked her to her feet. There was a crowd of humans eagerly falling over each other to get a good look at her. Their excited chatter blurred into a flurry of nonsense as she pushed through them. Just that task alone left her breathless and exhausted, but she still had to figure out what was going on.

Miathos steered clear of every person that looked to pull her aside to talk, and every person that called the Herald of Andraste. What did that even mean? What was a Chantry symbol supposed to mean to a Dalish elf? The mass of humans and soliders overwhelmed her in a way that left her almost running through the camp. The gasps of admiration or disbelief that swirled around her threw the elf into a panic.

She was stopped only when she slammed smack dab into a warm, solid form that barely moved from the force of the collision. She, on the other hand, had the wind knocked right out of her lungs.

Miathos' nose was filled with the welcoming scent of pine and musk as she clung to the fabric pressed against her face. It didn't occur to her until a few moments later to actually see what it had been that she had slammed into. Much to her chagrin, she was met by the quizzical brow of a tall, lithe, and apparently rather amused elven mage with his gaze leveled to her.

Her mouth opened and closed like something reminiscent of a fish. As she realized how close they were to each other, her face descended into mad blushing. She must look like such a bumbling idiot: falling all over herself running, slamming into him, then clinging like a little girl.

Solas put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her to a reasonable distance, but her fingers still fisted the fabric covering his chest. Her knuckles turned whiter than they already had been with how tightly she held on. Considering she now glowed like shining ice, the added whiteness was impressive.

She released the front of his tunic and took numerous steps backwards, raising her finger in an attempt to speed an explanation from her lips. He only looked at her expectantly, eyes bearing down on her in a way that reminded her of her Keeper. The piercing blueness of his eyes was enough to unnerve her.

"Solas...I..." But then she scowled, defeated. "What has happened to me?"

She looked up at him with newly violet eyes shiny with confusion and brimming with questions. The drawling frown on her face nearly brought a chuckle past the lips of Solas, but he smothered it behind his mask of calm.

He said nothing at first, only stole a quick peek over her shoulder at the approaching crowd of humans following her like lost puppies. He sighed wearily and shook his head ever so slightly. The elf put a hand on her shoulder blade and ushered her like a child into the cabin he had been standing in front of, away from the approaching crowd.

His large, slender hand felt warm on her back even through her winter robes, and the safety Miathos immediately found in him led her nearly to clinging to his tunic again. She was duly aware that such an action would be highly inappropriate, considering their age. Even so, he was taking it upon himself to shield her from the forces that brought her anxiety, albeit temporarily. She did not question and certainly did not protest his guiding push as she shuffled inside.

Solas led her to sit upon a simple bed that looked rather old, but as though it had seen little use recently. The cabin was dimly lit by a single candle sitting on a desk that seemed to bleed papers and books onto the floor. Other than that, she could see his black vest hung on the back of a rickety wooden chair and his staff leaned up against the wall. It was no doubt the place he kept his things, but it did not feel like his home.

"You have been sleeping for days, _dalen_." He said with a groan as he sat in the chair, which creaked with his weight. "Some feared you would not wake."

He refered to her as a small child, the same way she had done to the servant. In elvish. Miathos furrowed her brow at him; he had no vallaslin. He was not Dalish. It brought her much confusion as to how he would know the word. Did he know what it meant, or that he was technically insulting her? Well, she supposed he was not. Though she was not sure of his exact age, Solas was certainly older than she, certainly her elder. And he had earned her respect many times over. He had done more for her before he even knew her name than some members of her own clan had.

These thoughts aside, she then called back the flashes of closing the Breach. She cradled her left hand in her right, staring down at the mark as though it would give her more information than Solas would. The thought was ludicrous.

"Why do I still have this? I believe I...remember that we closed the Breach, yes? Shouldn't this mark be gone now?"

He held up a silencing hand to slow her questions, which flowed like water from her curious mouth. Miathos Lavellan found herself listening to his unspoken request almost immediately. 

"The scar in the sky has not been closed, child. Only stabilized. And one can only guess for how long." He crossed his lengthy legs and leaned forward. "Do you truly remember nothing of it?"

Lavellan raised her eyes spiritlessly and shook her head gloomily. His questions so easily made her feel like a foolish child; she remembered so little of what was truly important. She smiled mirthlessly as she touched the bruise on her chest without thinking. It caused her to wince a little and even though there was a quick burial of the pain, it was not lost to him.

"Yes, you sustained the injury after your encounter with the Breach." Solas thumbed his bottom lip and frowned so slightly that she would have missed it had she blinked. "Is it causing you much discomfort? I healed it as best I could with the lady Seeker observing me with such...distrust."

Miathos shook her head rather dumbly, at best. She knew healing magic took a large amount of concentration, as it was a delicate practice. The fact that he could do half as well as he had with a woman like Cassandra breathing down his neck spoke volumes of his skill. She was quickly coming to admire him.

"It must have been rather difficult." She pointed out, receiving a small chuckle in return.

"Indeed, it was."

There was silence for a moment, save the wind rattling the windows and the voices prattling outside, but it was not uncomfortable. She found repose in being able to enjoy breathing for a moment and Solas seemed content to ride out the silence. Miathos reached up and touched a lock of her hair, sighing quietly as she examined it.

She kept it long, with two braids forming a crown about her head and another pair of braids hanging freely past her ears. She had always found simple satisfaction in playing with her hair, but now she wrought only confusion and discontentment.

"Why did I change so?" She whispered, offering him a chance to pretend he had not heard her if he didn't know. However, as he already seemed regular to doing, Solas had some sort of answer for her.

"The Breach held power that one like yourself has not ever encountered before." He pointed out, sitting forward a bit. "And, from what I am aware, it was said you fell from one such rift. This would imply you have physically traveled the Fade. In the very flesh. I imagine it was quite stressful on your mind and body, though it must have been...interesting" His voice trailed on for a moment, filled with what she believed to be longing.

Did he envy her bodily experience in the Fade?

"But I digress, young one. Shortly after I examined you upon returning to Haven, you fell into a nearly comatose state. You lay-"

Miathos cut him off for a moment, slightly overwhelmed by the fountain of information he was bestowing upon her.

"Are there no other healers here?" She asked, reddening by the disapproving glance he gave her regarding her rudeness. "It just seems you have been watching over me quite frequently..."

Lavellan realized then that he really did remind her of an elder: wisdom, experience, and attitude. But there was something...other wordly, yet earthy about him. Miathos had no idea what to make of him. The lack of vallaslin outed him as not being Dalish, but his rugged and individualistic appearance marked him as also not being a city elf.

"There are healers here, yes." He replied with a dreary sigh, hurriedly explaining so he could resume his previous point. "Though I trust none of them could have stabilized you, given the circumstances. Your mark makes it difficult for...other mages to do what I can."

She meant to question him again, but the fraction of a look he shot her made her rethink that approach. His mere glances were enough to humble her. Though, what had he meant in saying _what I can_?

"You lay still as stone for days, skin and hair and eyes changing hue. I would theorize it is due to the shock your body has endured. All things considered, I would count you lucky." Solas smoothed out his nugskin tights and rose from his seat, leaning his slender hip against his desk.

"I have occupied your time too long now, _dalen_. I believe Cassandra wished your presence in the Chantry."

Miathos twittled her thumbs and nodded. He stated this fact as a way of telling her it was time to go. She understood.

"Yes." She murmured, dreading going back outside into the madness that was surely awaiting her.

"Though, once you have finished there, I would be pleased if you returned. I believe Cassandra will not interrupt once she feels her concerns have been addressed."

"Yes." She replied again, knowing what he meant and that it was not a request. "My bruise."

He dipped his head in confirmation and showed her to the door, ushering her with the same gentle hand on her shoulder blade as before. She offered him a small, sweet smile at the threshold.

" _Dareth shiral_ , _hahren_."

He opened the door for her and then laced his fingers behind his back, nodding to the outside. It was clear that she would not be stalling this apparent meeting with Cassandra, however much she was dreading it.

"Go now, little one. I will be here once you have finished."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep in mind, my Lavellan came out looking anywhere from around 19-24, so she's definitely a young, innocent thing. Big contrast to how I believe Solas is!


	4. It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas' experience with healing Miathos Lavellan and a quick peek as he begins to enjoy her company. And Cassandra...yay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first, I didn't want to romance Solas. I really didn't. Everything I said: Solas Approves, Solas Slightly Approves, Hey Girl Can I Get Your Number?  
> You get the picture? I fell for his charm. I fell off a really big cliff...onto Solas. Someone call the doctor or the police. My heart's been stolen.

Solas was weary. But there was always work to be done.

Since the encounter with the Breach, the young elf had been trapped in her slumber. He checked on her almost hourly, when he could slip past Cassandra's watchful eye. She herself was no obstacle to him, but the fact that so many sat waiting outside the cabin certainly added to the difficulty. She would hound his every action, disrupting his concentration at every turn to ask for new developments in the Herald's condition. Apparently his disapproving stares were too subtle for her to hold her tongue.

Cassandra was also only concerned with what she could see physically changing on the unconscious elf, asking countless questions when her reddish hair began to bleed into white. Solas had tried and failed to make her understand that the change was not some sort of sign for a turn for the worse. The Seeker made his head ache many times over.

When finally he managed to visit Lavellan alone, he was immediately met with the ghostly way her skin reflected the early morning light streaming through the window. He crossed the room to her bed and languidly dragged a wooden stool with him as he observed her condition. She looked almost ethereal in this light, her body having not moved in days. Her face seemed peaceful, her features never twitching.

As he looked at her, Solas could not help himself but wonder what kind of beauty she would wield if not for the vallaslin staining her body. The mage pushed his thoughts aside and took a seat beside the bed. He gently massaged her extremities, starting with her fingers and hands. The mark on her palm glowed slightly at his touch, leeching a bit of magic from his body and into hers. He allowed it, like one allows a dog to smell them before proceeding to pet.

Once he felt it cease pulling at his mana, he nodded to himself and continued onward. Solas rubbed expertly at the arch of her foot and the crevices between her delicate toes with no further problems. His palms slid along her joints and muscles with practiced ease, he having performed this process what felt like a thousand times over. He made sure that her blood flowed normally through her physical body in this way.

He turned her over as softly as he could, her pale form quite easy for him to lift and shift. Her snowy white hair feathered lightly about her face, and Solas tucked it behind her pointed ear out of respect for her vulnerable state. He then checked her back for sores or bruises and found none there. The calloused pads of his fingers added gentle pressure across her milky skin as he kneaded the flesh. He lost himself in the work of surveying her form for blemishes or marks that had not previously been there. He certainly did not put it past the crowd outside to have harmed her in their excitement. Cassandra did her best to keep people away from Lavellan, but she was only one woman against a mob of the faithful. So far she had done well, but anything less would have been unacceptable anyway.

Lavellan was so delicate beneath his hands, so vunerable and defenseless. He kept any further thoughts of her fairness at bay, knowing in his soul how inappropriate it would be. As of now, regardless of her beauty, Lavellan was his patient. He had no right to think of her appearance at this current moment. Solas instead thought back to the first day she had fallen into this comatose state and ended up scowling. A feeling of anger filled him, welling inside him until the expression twisted his entire face.

The healers had poked and prodded at her diminutive body, terrified of the power she had wielded mere minutes before in order to save them. She could do nothing but allow it. Others gawked at her with reverence and claimed she required no healing at all, that the Maker would watch over his holy child. She could do nothing but allow it. Solas scoffed to himself in the confines of the cabin, remembering that once he had used his magic to look at her insides, he had discovered internal bleeding. Without his interference with the other...dare he even say ' _healers_ ', she would have died.

Of course, a rational mind could not blame the young healers for their lack of training. Most were not even mages, and others were too scared of the current goings on to be in the right state of mind for such an intricate practice. Even so, Solas would scarcely have left her in any other care but his own.

He turned her over once more and placed his palm over her forehead to check for fever. She was warm, but not exceptionally so. Solas quickly jotted down a few notes and continued his work. He gathered a small amount of healing magic in his hands, murmuring the spell required to do so, and then ran his palm down the length of her body. Solas poured magic into the bruise that marred her chest, slowly healing it and restoring her pale complexion.

His hands glowed a soft blue as he hovered over her collar, the gentle swell of her bound breasts, and her ribs. The bruise was large, but she was lucky there had not been more damage done to her. There had been no broken bones or injuries other than what he encountered on the first day. He had already healed the worst of it anyway, having fixed her internal distress days earlier. Lavellan was now left with only the faint shadow of her bruise.

Solas withdrew the healing magic from her chest and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the more...intimate part of his work. He knew he could not finish all in one session, as he knew Cassandra would be searching for him soon. There was still so much to do.

He closed his eyes and reached out to touch her aura, which lay partially dormant in her. The light, glowing energy he found remnants of inside her was enough to give him pause. Each time Solas encountered it, he had to still his curiosity of her. The warmth that emanated from her muted aura beckoned to him, trying to wrap itself around him, begging for company in its loneliness. She had been sleeping for days; the exhausted, dreamless sleep that prevented her from fully reaching the Fade. His own strong presense had been the only interaction she had had since falling asleep, but he doubted she would even be able to remember.

Of course she wouldn't, he thought with a quiet chuckle, she is unique, but not quite powerful enough for that. Besides, he already knew that some part of her still resided in her body. That was not what he was searching for. He needed to make sure that the part of her that _had_ managed to slip into the dreamless part of the Fade intended on returning. If not, he was unsure if she would ever wake from this state.

His thoughts disgressed even so, he had not witnessed such a unique color or feeling from a mortal spirit in a long while. And just thinking that it had only been a remnant of her full spirit infatuated him more. The curiosity still whispered to him, but he persisted in his work. He reached into her with a tendril of his energy, exploring her from the inside to make sure her spirit was still tethered to her body.

He traveled first from her heart to her neck, finding that everything pumped and flowed correctly, easily. His own heartbeat slowed to match hers until his ears were filled with the slow rhythm. Solas touched her lungs and saw that they drew slow, healthy breaths; he breathed then as she did. He laid himself down inside her, reaching through to find her energy and consciousness to examine it.

He flowed with the blood in her veins, warm and liquid, through every part of her until he reached her mind. Solas was aware that he was now entering the Fade from inside her, his spirit searching for hers. He knew this was quite intimate, his entire being literally resting within her, but this way he did not have to search the entirety of the Fade for her. He had to make sure that her body was not just an empty vessel, breathing and beating without her spirit intending to return. This was a necessary intimacy he was sharing with her, he told himself.

He found her essence then, floating in the grey area that was not quite the Fade, but also not the blackness of sleep familiar to the dwarves. Solas saw the thread of a tether that kept her connected to her physical form, the same tether he had used to find her here. Her spirit, composed completely of her life energy, was open for his eyes to see. Solas gazed upon her before he could decide not to do so.

He was captured by the almond shape of her eyes, the gentle curve of her jaw, and the fullness of her naked cheeks. Her slumbering face looked so innocent, like the face of an angel finding rest. Solas realized how enrapturing she was without the vallaslin marring her face, how much like the elves of old she looked. She was unaware of his presence here, as she was unaware of her own presence here, but he suddenly felt as though he was seeing her in a way that no one had ever seen her before. He felt himself swell with pride and just the slightest hint of depravity.

It was wrong to gaze upon her spirit, the form that she truly was, and find her beautiful in such a naked state of being. She was not even lucid enough to see him in this place of her own making, and it gave him a strange, dirty feeling inside. Like he was an intruder, a voyeur in the place her spirit sought safety in.

"Solas!" Cassandra's hands on his shoulders wrenched him violently out of Lavellan's body, his mind thrust back into his own head with such an intensity that he cried out in pain.

He collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath as he settled back into himself. Solas coughed, once, twice, then was filled with rage.

"You know not what you do, Seeker." He accused with venom, silencing her protests with his own words. He laced his slender fingers behind his back, letting his icy tone replace the venom. He could not allow such emotion to overtake him, and he settled into a tight, neutral expression instead. His hands itched with the urge to throttle her for her foolishness, but he betrayed nothing more than what he had let slip.

"She will wake soon, Seeker. Her vitals are stable, there are no-". Cassandra leapt into interrupting him, much to his further irritation, but he doubted she noticed.

Besides, it was not in her nature to apologize anyway.

"I told you to inform me before interacting with the Herald. There are others in Haven that would not trust an...apostate with such a delicate matter." She had tried to refrain from using the word, but it seemed it had slipped. "I will need to speak to her when she wakes."

He noted that she used the title the crowd outside had bestowed the sleeping elf and silently disapproved. Regardless, he chuckled at the way she slyly let it drop that she wished Lavellan's attention upon waking. She apparently somehow knew he would be the first to know. The sheer gall the Seeker boasted was enough to frustrate him, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with the width of his sudden and strained smile. Solas covered Miathos' sleeping form with a woolen blanket and then turned to face Cassandra, suddenly quite cold.

"All mages are apostates, Seeker. And I do believe I have shared my findings with you, as you asked." Solas reminded her in a clipped tone, starting mechanically toward the door. "Now, I trust you have many associates to inform. If there is nothing else?"

She scowled at him, but said nothing more of his sass as she pushed past him out the door. Solas knew he would be berrated for his disobedience later, but for now it was time to leave. He had invaded Lavellan's privacy for long enough.

Before departing however, Solas pressed his fingertip to the doorknob and traced the symbol for a simple glyph while quietly chanting. It would alert him if anyone opened the door from either side, which gave him peace of mind in leaving her unguarded. He slipped outside, then pulsed mana into the knob, activating the glyph without rousing suspicions.

Solas shoved easily through the murmuring crowd surrounding the cabin, working his way back to his own current place of residence. After escaping the immediate radius of the chaos, Solas rubbed at his temples.

He opened the hefty wooden door to his cabin with little more than a brief push, letting it fall shut behind him. Solas removed his vest and hung it over a chair near his desk with a sigh. He then sat down heavily upon his bed, his weight creating a divet in the mattress. He breathed deeply, in and out, slowly letting calmness nip at the edges of his anger.

Cassandra was so very...brash and bordering idiotic when the subject broached what she didn't understand. Her careless intrusion could have led to Lavellan's death. But then again, had he not been intruding also?

He had seen her in her most secret of places, in her most personal form without her permission. Without her even knowing he was there. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

Solas closed his eyes and let himself meditate for a time, his body's functions slowing as though he were slipping into sleep. He recalled without meaning to the gentle warmth of Lavellan's spirit and the determination to live he could feel in her. Solas was intrigued by her even now, though he knew almost nothing of the woman. Solas explored his thoughts for what felt to him like hours, replaying over and over the past few days to remember everything she had missed.

It had been mostly political buzzing, the faithful flocking to her cabin and gushing their admiration of her. Was there more? Solas doubted it was truly important enough to-

He bristled as he felt the glyph being activated, his eyes snapping open as though someone had flicked a switch. Solas rose from his bed and smoothed away the slight divet his bottom had caused. He had never slept in the old thing, opting instead for his wooden chair. He never did like the damp way mattresses smelled when they aged; he would much more prefer a bedroll.

Disregarding his sleeping preferences, Solas opened the door and stepped outside. He took a watchful stance near his cabin, from which he could just barely see through the crowd. Like a dart, Lavellan flew through the mass of people, much to his surprise and amusement. He certainly did not think she would be up and running so soon, nor reacting so badly to all the new faces.

She ran right into him, actually. He caught her easily and managed to prevent them from hitting the ground, but Solas heard the audible grunt she emitted as the air rushed from her lungs. Lavellan shook in his arms, her shoulders trembling as she held tightly to his tunic.

She didn't look up at him until several moments later, her innocent confusion written on her face. He studied the curve of her jaw and fullness of her cheeks again, but in the flesh. Though he had berrated himself for thinking it before, he found that he still thought her fair.

He balked internally and tried to shake the adjective from his mind but could not. The way she begged without begging him to aid her left him lost for what to say. At first he nearly chuckled, but it died when he realized he was unable to say no. He could not refuse her, and this lack of choice managed to bring him no small amount of irritation. She should not have this power over him, however slight it may be.

After pushing her a few steps back and listening to her verbally fall over herself, Solas conceeded and guided her inside. His resistance crumbled so easily, and she had asked nothing of him.

* * *

 

They spoke for what felt much longer than it truly was, and he answered every question she could think to ask. Her curiosity sparked further interest in him as to what she would ask next, and this irked him. Solas did not want to approve of her wit, or to find her conversation charming.

He addressed her as a child, to remind himself that it was what she was, but it did not help. He found himself becoming short with her the more he enjoyed their conversation, narrowing his eyes or chastisising her with his expressions. Even then, he was pleased that Lavellan was mindful enough to catch on. It seemed she could not swing a dead cat without gaining his approval.

Finally, like a gift from the beyond, he recalled that the Seeker had wished to speak with the young mage. It was suddenly a blessing that the woman was so self important, because it gave him the perfect excuse to escape Lavellan's charm. He informed the girl of Cassandra's wishes with a silent sigh of relief.

She seemed to pout at him in return, as though the Seeker's wishes were somehow his fault. He was at a loss of words once more as his fingers twitched at his side. All she needed to do was ask, and he would find a way to excuse her from whatever Cassandra needed. He knew at his very core that he would do it, if only she asked.

"Yes." Lavellan murmured, voice as soft as downy. 

Something in him snapped like a thread at the sound of her disappointment. Before he could stop himself, Solas invited her to return once Cassandra's business had finished. 

He mentally raged at himself, and the way her face perked up just a little. If he hadn't been staring so unabashedly, he would have missed it. She thanked him and wished him farewell in Elvish, and the way the words fell from her lips was enough to make his skin bristle. Lavellan referred to him as an elder, as she should, but he found he was unsatisfied with the title.

She needed to _go_ , at least to give him time to collect his pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> His weird obsession with her will progress over time. He wants to learn about her, just like I wanted to learn about him, but he's a little less open to the idea.  
> Please kill me...but...he's hungry like the wooolf.  
> My story notes are gonna be nothing but puns at this point.


	5. A Child's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan returns to Solas' cabin as he requested. The bond begins to deepen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After I got over my initial feelings of not wanting to romance him, I hounded all of Solas' dialogue. Everything he said was so witty, and I always wanted to talk to him.

The next few hours were filled with paperwork, accusations, and a splitting headache.

Miathos tried to tell them, to make them all understand that she was not holy. She was not a sacred warrior sent by the Maker to aid them in saving the world. She was not the end all be all answer to mass amounts of problems plaguing Thedas. She was a Dalish elf, the First of her clan who happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. It was all an accident, a mere coincidence that she was gifted with this mark on her hand. They all seemed to blatantly disregard everything she said. How could they sit there and call her holy, but then wave away what she told them? How did that make any sense? On top of that, Lavellan had people left and right that wanted to hang her, worship her, or follow her. It was too much for her to even begin to hope to comprehend.

But she agreed to help them: Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, Cullen, the Inquisition. She did it because it was right. Because it was the only decision she had, and it was the correct one. Abandoning them now meant abandoning everyone, including her own clan. She had felt the power of the rifts and the devastation they could release first hand. Without her to close them, the world would surely crumble to dust before her eyes.

It was the only choice she had, and she was not naive enough to believe it hadn't been planned that way. They knew she wouldn't say no and that made her want to scream. How could anyone say no when faced with the lives of _thousands_? It was a cruel tactic, if efficient.

Lavellan left the Chantry feeling played and bitter. The nipping cold and lashing winds did nothing to help her mood. She unleashed every foul word she could think of, in common tongue and Elvish, into the howling wind. In return, it bit at her cheeks and chilled her bones as her bare feet crunched through the thin layer of snow on the ground. She didn't mind the cold on her soles, though. They were too calloused to be bothered by it.

The young elf pulled her Dalish robes as tightly around herself as possible, squinting through the wind as she trudged onwards. Solas had asked her to stop by for another healing session, and if she didn't go now, she would not go at all. Simply put, she was exhausted.

Lavellan was also relieved to find that the harsh weather had forced her adoring crowd to seek shelter, leaving her free to walk as slowly as she wanted. It was a charming feeling to drag her feet a bit, though the cold made her shiver.

She stood finally outside Solas' residence, knowing somehow that this cabin, unassuming in appearance, was his. She reached out and tentatively knocked, her eyes trained on the sliver of firelight flooding from beneath the door. Her teeth began to chatter and her breath escaped in warm clouds of vapor as she waited.

Her heart jumped into her throat when the light was blocked out by what she assumed to be Solas' shadow. The heavy door creaked opened just a fraction of an inch, and she took it as an invitation to go inside, quickly closing it behind her. The wind blew angrily through the small crack beneath the door, but it died away when it realized it could do nothing to chill her anymore.

He sat once again in his wooden chair, looking over a thick and musky smelling tome. His posture was stiff and rigid, but he looked as comfortable as she had seen him so far. His legs were crossed, one hand holding the tome in his lap while the other toyed with a necklace he wore. Lavellan could not quite tell what it was, but it certainly looked like some sort of jawbone.

The small fireplace was lit with a roaring fire, magic in nature with no logs to burn. Lavellan eagerly shuffled over to it, warming her frosty hands with a contented sigh. Solas paid her no heed as she made herself comfortable before the fire, sitting down crossed legged on the floor. He turned the page, then pressed the knuckle of his index finger against his mouth in thought. He looked much like a model that a painter would stare at, Lavellan mused silently.

She continued to watch him read out of the corner of her eye, occasionally stretching out her arms to warm her hands again. The magical fire bathed her face in its lambent glow, easing away the redness in her cheeks over time. She was thankful for the moment of calm she was being treated to, the only sounds being tiny crackles from the fire or the turning of pages. It made her eyelids feel heavy.

They stayed like that for several minutes until the man closed his tome with a muffled snap. He placed it on his desk and turned to face her, a deep exhale heavy on his lips.

"What were you reading, if I may ask?" Miathos questioned, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm. Solas glanced at his book in an uninterested manner, then picked it up. He rolled the leather bound thing over in his hands several times, thumb skimming over the cover.

"It is a collection of old myths. Little more than childrens' tales." He replied, setting the book upon his knee. "It grows late, _dalen_. We should proceed with the healing, if you are of a mind."

Lavellan nodded, feeling her question had been foolish. She rose to her feet and took Solas' invitation to lay on the bed belly up. Her hair hung lazily from the side of the twin bed like a snowy curtain, nearly reaching the ground.

Solas pressed two firm, slender fingers against her collar where her robes sloped. He watched her face as he pressed again a bit lower, humming quietly when she winced and closed her eyes at the pressure. Lavellan then felt the benevolent push of healing magic on her skin, his energy seeping through her to the very bones. His spell felt like a soothing balm being applied from the inside, easing the ache of her injury. It spread and pooled in her chest like honey, heavy and sweet as it traveled up to the surface. She exhaled a tranquil sigh that came from the bottom of her lungs, her expression softening.

His hands traveled like liquid over the expanse of her bruise, all the way down to her ribs. Solas was slow in his work and precise in his actions. The gentle but insistant push of magic in his palms enveloped her, cradling her with its quiet whispers. Her skin prickled with goosebumps beneath his touch, and she shivered ever so slightly.

She could feel the crackle of concentration in the air bearing down on them, but not unpleasantly. Lavellan trusted him, even so soon, to lay placidly before him and let his magic flow through her body. Such an encounter implied trust anyway. To show anyone an injury, which insinuated weakness, and let them soothe it was a bond they created. By the time he had finished, Miathos was barely holding consciousness.

Her eyes fluttered open to see that the fire had died, snuffed out by the lack of mana being feed to it. The cabin was dark, but still surprisingly cozy despite the howling winds outside. Solas had retreated to his chair once more, leaving her with heavily lidded eyes and a deep feeling of peace.

He thumbed repeatedly at his bottom lip before slowly rolling his shoulders. His posture straightened and stiffened once again, but it could not erase the graceful and lithe way she had felt him move. Had felt his magic _move_.

Lavellan was surprised to hear his lilting chuckle suddenly fill the room, despite its slightness. There was no other sound to counter it, but she found no other sound would be so appropriate. Why not laugh, if nothing else filled your moment? It was only what he said next that gave her pause.

"The 'Chosen of Andraste', a blessed hero sent to save us all." His whispered words were filled with disbelieving wonderment. Of what? Of her?

Solas rubbed at his jaw with visible tiredness, but his deep chuckle assured her that he wasn't immediately beginning a serious conversation. She smiled to herself in return, listening gratefully to the sound of it.

"It is what the adoring public has deemed you." Solas told her while resting his neck on the back of his chair. He stared at the same blank ceiling that she did. "Ah, _dalen_...'The Herald of Andraste'."

Lavellan laced her fingers over her stomach and choked back a laugh, turning her head to face him. She was certainly game for a jest or two.

"Am I to ride in on a shining steed?" She asked him, face stern with mock heroism.

Solas rounded on her, ready with a retort before she could even plan her next move.

"I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly they are extinct."

He surprised her yet again, but this time with a brief scolding about posturing. Lavellan nearly snorted in reply, yet the tired tone of his voice caused her to push away her playful demeanor and sit up, intent on listening to what he had to say. She certainly owed him that much.

"I have journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations." He seemed lost in memories as he regailed her with information that she eagerly held on to. "I've watched as hosts of spirits clashed to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten."

Solas was a mystery to her: able to talk and wield magic with the experience of her Keeper, of any mage she had ever met. He was able to do that and more with what seemed like so little effort. He struck her as wise, but humorous or witty when the moment pleased him. The creaking of his chair caused her to perk up, only to find his eyes trained on her. His gaze was light and interested, this time most certainly in her.

"Every great war has its heroes. I'm just curious what kind you'll be."

Lavellan was at a loss. He didn't phrase it as a question, but she knew he wanted an answer. It was too soon to tell what kind of hero she'd be. Oh, gods....that's what she'd agreed to. She agreed to be a hero for them all. She sat up, hands clutching at the end of the bed. She searched for anything to say, to buy her just a little more time to think. So, she asked what he meant by ruins and battlefields.

Though it was a ploy to save herself from a question she was dreading, he answered her with no less enthusiasm than if the premise had been honest. Solas described places so wizened by time that they bled memories, and how they withstood the trials of age. He spoke of the spirits that strained and pressed against the Veil, and how they danced with him through history. Lavellan was enraptured by what he told her, and could scarcely believe she had never thought to study the spirits.

"I have never heard of someone going so deep into the Fade. The things you must see there...they sound wonderful. Exhilarating, even." She admitted, a little breathless at the possibilities such an ability could grant.

Solas met her with another smile, and the guilt that stabbed her was deep and twisting.

"Thank you. It's not a common field of study for obvious reasons. It is not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning." His eyes with filled with an emotion she couldn't place and in just a second, it was gone. "But, the thrill of finding remnants of a thousand year old dream? I would not trade it for anything."

His earnesty reached her and soothed her guilt. It comforted her to know he enjoyed speaking to her on this subject. Even still, her evasion of his simple question left her feeling dishonest. After everything he had done for her so far, she had not even answered what he asked of her.

"It grows late." She said, rising from his bed and feeling her body resist. "I should take my leave of you now, lest I require even more of your time."

Lavellan slowly made for the door, but he did not rise to meet her. He offered her a slight nod and a wish of goodnight before he returned to reading his tome. Seemingly with no effort on his behalf, the fire sparked itself back to life. Was there nothing he could do that did not fascinate her?

As she closed the door to his cabin, she realized that it was unlikely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I honestly didn't know how to respond when he asked/didn't ask what kind of hero you would be. I evaded that question like most people evaded the plague: not very successfully.


	6. Isn't it Ironic?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief view of the Redcliffe dealio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help but feel this chapter fell a bit flat considering how long it's been since I last posted. I felt shoving everything I had planned into one chapter would be too much, so I'll be splitting it up a little.

So much fighting, so many new faces. Working the war table like she was a general. Miathos was caught in a whirlwind of newness, but she now had new friends to help her get it straight.

Iron Bull: strong and foreign and fierce. Blackwall: a gentleman, honorable warrior, and fast friend. Sera: practical joker and hero of the people. And Vivienne: a woman filled to the brim with grace and knowledge. Lavellan could hardly remember the days when she felt so very scared and alone.

She had lived up to every expectation placed upon her in her own way, sticking true to her beliefs. She helped the refugees, solved the hard conflicts with force _and_ compassion. She wouldn't lie; she was proud of herself. She walked with a spring in her snowy haired step, confident in herself and her companions. Lavellan stretched her abilities thin, but she seemed to thrive in helping others. She had been appauled by all the chaos she had seen so far in the Hinterlands, but she fought back with everything she had. She did what she could for her soliders by gathering the materials they needed. She closed rifts until she thought her body would collapse from the work of it.

Miathos did not try to hide her soft spot for the mages even slightly. Her heart went out to their plight, seeing as she herself was a mage. It did not get her much approval with her advisors and certain companions, but that much did not matter to her. She helped them as often and completely as possible, given her long list of to do's. Sometimes she felt a bit like an errand boy, but her merry band of misfits kept her happy and fiesty.

Lavellan was quite certainly intrigued by her other companions, but she still stuck to Solas like moss on a tree. He traveled with her scouting party most everywhere and taught Lavellan scores of new things. He would grace her with the history of a new land that they traveled, show her rare herbs would have otherwise been oblivious to, or throw a barrier around her when the fighting made her unwise. As much as she stuck to him, Solas seemed content in teaching her. The pair would talk and exchange experiences until the early morning hours, or until his stern gaze told her it was time to go. They found level ground on the topic of the Dalish, which she had found he looked down upon. She expressed her desire to learn more of her people, and that the Dalish were at least trying. It was a dangerous topic as far as their opposing views went, but they were civil enough to poke at it every now and again. She was sure she could change his opinion sooner or later, rather, she would not give up until she had. They spoke very often indeed, but Solas had hardly warmed up to her anymore than in the first few days. That much didn't matter to her, though his sudden neutrality or distance sometimes stung.

Something about his wisdom and humor and wit kept her coming back to him, even when he looked insensitively upon her views. Miathos was hardly anywhere else when not grinding herbs by his side or pouring over one of his old tomes. Sera commented on it regularly, expressing her annoyance of 'Elfy one and two'. Miathos shot back her sharpest retorts, and the two easily became sparring partners of sass. Sera felt like a sister, when she wasn't complimenting how round her bottom looked in her robes. Or how she knew some magic too while flicking her tongue and fingers in a lewd manner. It was at those times when Lavellan would walk away, her neck and face feeling warm and embarrassed.

Vivienne tutted at the 'lost puppy' syndrome that Miathos apparently exhibited and tried to counteract anything Solas told her about the Fade. It was almost as if Vivienne had taken the role of a strict surrogate mother, trying to prevent the world from corrupting her virginal mind. It was almost funny, considering the general public saw Lavellan as a holy force of justice and good, but Vivienne treated her like a toddler.

Iron Bull implied less innocent things. Things that made her insides tickle and her face turn red. He asked questions about Dalish elves regularly, such as if they really did have orgies in the moonlight under the stars. Or if Solas had wisdom in other areas of study, like anatomy. It never failed to catch her off guard and leave her grasping for words. When she could find none, she tried glancing at her hahren for assistance as Bull waited for an answer. If Solas noticed, he didn't comment on it in the slightest.

 They traveled now through a heavily wooden area of the Hinterlands, Miathos leading while Vivienne, Cassandra, and Solas followed close behind. The enchanter and apostate mage were deeply engaged in a conversation broaching spirits. Less of a conversation and more of an argument masquerading as a conversation. In the meantime, Lavellan and Cassandra traveled onward in search of Redcliffe. She had heard tales of the village being overrun by the undead at one point, and the thought both excited and terrified her. A whole village of the dead? She could hardly believe such a tale, but the drained faces she saw upon entering the village let her know that they had seen many things in their lives. Maybe the walking dead had been one of them.

Miathos had made contact with Grand Enchanter Fiona while passing through Val Royeaux, and the woman had asked her to meet in Redcliffe. That was what she was here for, but by the way people gawked as her group walked the dirt path, Miathos got a strange feeling that she had not been expected. She glanced sideways at Cassandra, whose face was set in a hard line. Even Vivienne and Solas had stopped their banter to take notice.

Something felt wrong.

They directed her to speak with a Tevinter magister on account that the former Circle mages had all but sold themselves in exchange for protection. The thought appaulled Lavellan to the point that she could hardly look upon them without pity. Vivienne took the shocked silence to greet Fiona with an observation of her appearance, which the woman took in stride.

"What has brought you to Redcliffe?" Fiona asked somewhat suspiciously. The way her eyebrow arched in curiosity led the group to believe they really hadn't been expected. It did not sit well with Miathos.

"We are here because you invited us. Personally. In Val Royeaux." She pointed out, crossing her arms. If she had been led into a trap, one that put her people and the townspeople in danger, she was going to be anything but happy.

"You must be mistaken. I haven't been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave." Fiona's voice betrayed her confusion and certainty at the same time. Certainty that they had never made aquaintance before now, and confusion as to why the Inquisition was at her doorstep.

Miathos believed that much, but she continued to press the grand enchanter for more information. What she was saying just didn't add up. Their game went back and forth until the grand enchanter personally admitted the free mage alliance with the Tevinter Imperium with just the slightest hint of shame.

Lavellan nearly cringed at the confession, but Vivienne made light of it with her sarcastic disappointment. She could all but feel Solas' pain at the admittance, the sheer overwhelming force of disapproval weighed down on them like a blanket. It was unnerving.

Lavellan expressed her thoughts of the alliance and how it had been a foolish mistake, only to receive Fiona's quiet disregard in return. She understood the situation they had been backed into, but Miathos did not under any circumstance approve of basically throwing an entire people to the feet of the Tevinter. She was even more bewildered to have to speak with a magister, of all things.

Her hateful stare was too much to hide, even when Vivienne nudged her leg beneath the table. Solas and Cassandra offered nothing to assist, only observing from the tavern wall. The conversation was strained, the young Dalish knowing almost nothing more than what the Tevinter Imperium had once done to her people, and seeing the Circle mages willingly giving themselves to the same fate. Her hands twitched with the urge to use every slur possible toward the smiling magister Alexius, but Vivienne kept a firm grip on her shoulder, face ever smiling and pleasant. Miathos nearly thanked the Creators in an unexpected distraction that came in the form of a young man fainting into her arms.

The man, Felix, was apparently the sick son of Alexius, who all but leapt from his seat to fawn over him. She felt the boy push a letter into her robes and she had to stop herself from gasping at his cold fingers on her skin. Nothing was ever simple, was it?

* * *

 

 

No, of course it wasn't.

She and her group left Redcliffe feeling rather played by the situation. The note was a request of Lavellan's presence in the Chantry by what she could only assume was an interested third part. Or some elaborate trap to catch her doing something or other. For the love of the Creators... Lavellan gathered her party and made for the Chantry in the late hours of nightfall. Redcliffe was eery in its silence, as any place would be in its situation. Still, she just couldn't fathom it: someone supposedly wise like Fiona selling herself to Tevinter. It didn't make the list of any reasonable thing Miathos could think of.

"I do not understand, _hahren_. They had so many options, boundless even." She whispered to Solas as they rounded a corner. "Why go to Tevinter?"

He looked at her with soft sadness and pain for the choice the mages had made.

"Desperation can cloud even the wisest mind." He replied, his hand giving a gentle press to her shoulder. He urged her onward and eased her disbelief in one motion, but Vivienne was not content in letting it lay.

"And does this apply to everything? Does it excuse anything?" The disdain in her tone was willfully unmasked, ended with a sharp snort at his statement.

The group carried on and found themselves pushing open the Chantry doors in no time at all. They were met with a young man firing bolt after bolt at demons.

At a rift.

In the Chantry.

The humor of the situation was golden, but they could break open that topic at a later date. For now they were set to battle. Solas threw a barrier around them all and followed with bolts of frost exploding from the end of his staff. Cassandra released a rousing cry as she plundged into the fight shield first and sword close behind. Vivienne called forth streams of lightning that electrified the air. And Miathos ignited the nearest demon with the force of flame.

She supported Cassandra, who kept the demons from Vivienne, who in turn distracted them from Solas, and he protected Lavellan. They worked like a closed circuit machine: loop after loop after loop.

Miathos raised her palm to the rift in an attempt to disrupt both it and her adversaries, but it took all her concentration. Cassandra had to work double time to protect herself, and from there the system fell to pieces. All the young elf needed was a few seconds, but she didn't have them. A shade lurched toward her and slammed down upon her with its shadowy claws. She barely managed to elude the surely damaging blow, using her staff as a shield.

She struggled and heaved against the being, but it knew no lethargy or discouragement. When her legs quivered with strain, the shade's empty eyes continued to stare as it pushed and clawed toward her. Only when Vivienne cast a bolt of lightning sent straight to Lavellan from some sort of merciful being did the creature shudder to the ground. She raised her mark once more and felt her energy connect to the rift, forcing it to turn in on itself and close. The clap of force was near deafening in the confined space of the Chantry, and it made her ears ring in pain.

"Do remind me to learn that trick sometime!" Called the young man as he swaggered towwrd them.

Somehow Lavellan knew this would be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'll be posting another chapter soon starting from when Dorian and Miathos enter the freaky future. I always thought there wasn't enough emphasis in later conversations with your companions that you went into the future and watched them bite it hero style.


End file.
